Youth
by excellentboiledpotatoes
Summary: A story from a simpler time. When life wasn't complicated. A time without webs of lies, mistrust and murder. Takes place years before the events of the Musketeers. Snippets of each character's story behind the tales, the story of youth.
1. The Beginning

Birds soared high in the sky, swooping to and fro among each other, their warbles ringing into the bustling city. The streetscape was lined with row after row of market stalls, all crying out their best deals.

"Bread, fresh bread fit for a king. Special price. Get 'em before they're gone" One girl cried out incessantly.

"Silk from the Far East" Another cried above the chatter.

Buyers scrambled with their money in their hands, leaning over their neighbours to buy spices, fabrics, foods and any other items that took their fancy. It was easy for the boy from the country to get lost taking in these sights, smells, and the very  
atmosphere of Paris. He looked up at the women in the townhouses, fluttering their washing out the windows. The spray fell on his youthful face and onto his unruly mop of hair. He closed his eyes and let the water droplets cool his face on this hot  
summer's day. He saw old men sitting outside whistling, playing the pipe or whittling, often with a small child watching attentively on their laps.

"René!" the young man jolted out of his reverie by the hand on his shoulder, pulling him back from a horseman galloping recklessly through the lane. René caught his breath as he felt the brush of the horse's tail just catch his face as it swayed with  
the movement of the rider. The horseman's cloak flapped in the wind, leaving a trail of people shrieking and jumping out of his way. The smell of the horse wafted into his nostrils. The young man turned around to see his father raise an eyebrow at  
him and clip him around the ear. He moved past him, giving his son a friendly nudge as he hauled his bag of goods to trade over his shoulder again. René rubbed his ear, but couldn't help smiling at his Father. He jogged to keep up with him.

"Stay by my side René" His father scolded him.

"Which side?" he replied slyly, a smile on his face, dodging between the marketers, trying his best to keep beside his father.

"Don't be childish René" The senior man sighed. While he might have needed some maturing, he was far from being a child. Even his Father had to admit that his son was a man now. That became clear as soon as he had to raise his eyes to look at his child.  
He sighed again, a common routine when he was will his son.

"There are plenty of people wanting young able-bodied men. Willing to pluck them off the street for slaves, fighting rings and other even more unsavoury uses. I don't want you to be one of them, living in the Court of Miracles or some other den of filth"

Sensing that his father wasn't going to admit defeat, he used the opportunity to advance his own cause.

"Well maybe if you let Uncle Pierre teach me about swordsmanship, I could fight off these monsters and it wouldn't be an issue…" He said, nudging his Father. The older man simply rolled his eyes at his son and continued his trip.

"Well if you're a man now, you should start thinking about what you're going to do with your life... And don't say soldiering. Your mother would have a conniption. I brought you here to the market today so you know how to deal with the buyer, to continue  
my trade. You could settle down, marry Isabelle and live a comfortable life. Or if you don't want that anymore, you could become a priest…" his father suggested.

"You know how I long for adventure father," René said, tipping his hat at a group of young girls, sending them into a giggling fit.

His father gave his signature sigh.

"Life is an adventure René, no matter how you live it. Do not take the life God has given you in vain. Don't waste it, rotting on a battlefield somewhere"

Once again René couldn't bring himself to fight with his father, so as usual, his Father won the argument by default.

After far longer than his father thought it should've been, they finally reached the entrance to one of the buyer's residences. René could not believe his eyes as they walked through the barracks of the famed Musketeer regiment, which his father had purposefully  
been secretive about. Men laughed and chattered amongst themselves and the air was hot with the sweat of duelling men. He could not help but imagine him living here, fighting for justice, protecting the poor and charming the fair maiden.

"Is there a Treville here? The Musketeer Treville" his father called out among the barracks. This men stopped fighting and quieted, simultaneously turning their heads to a musketeer on the balustrade.A younger man descended the stairs from his quarters.

"Yes, I am Treville," he said in a gruff voice. René and his father bowed slightly.

"I have the hat you ordered Sir"

"Excellent, just what a balding musketeer needs" Treville quipped, though rather coldly.

René could not help letting out a chuckle to the Musketeer's witticism. Treville became more serious again however, and reached deep into a pouch on his side.

"I'm afraid this is all I have Monsieur" Treville confessed, placing two small coins into the René's father's hand. "Please accept this gift as recompense," he said, taking off his sword sheath.

"No, no I could not possib…" The older man began to protest.

"I insist there is much more where this one came from. I always repay a debt, besideswe may see this young man use it here one day" He nodded in René's direction.

Treville handed René the sword. René unsheathed it, admiring the craftsmanship and beauty of the weapon. The intricacy of the words "All for one" drawing him in. He lunged forward with it in his hands, turning it and slashing the air. Treville nodded  
silently.

"Thankyou Monsieur Treville" René said, bowing his head. "I promise never to forget this gift"

"Don't be so quick to make promises, boy" he said distantly,

Suddenly the Captain of the Musketeers emerged with a letter in his hand. A man stood beside him, and René recognised him as the man on the horse earlier. He must have delivered important news.

"The Queen of France is arriving in Paris today. She is incognito, there is no escort. Please report to your positions around the city. Immediately." He shouted to the group of Musketeers below. Treville tipped his newly acquired hat and then ran briskly  
to his comrades.

René and his father slowly walked away, turning their backs on the now bustling barracks.

"Now that is not a proper bartering technique" his father hissed under his breath. René laughed at his Father, taking a last long look at the barracks. There was now only one more client to visit and then the long trip back to their countryside village.  
René did not know if he was relieved or saddened at that thought. No doubt his mother, siblings and Isabelle would be eagerly awaiting his return…

"Now you wait here, God only knows what you might come out with this time" his father grumbled as he meandered into the goods shop. René looked around to check there was no one in immediate danger if he took out his newly acquired sword.

 _The glint of his sword shone in the sunlight. A marauding band advanced toward him, screaming war cries of some sort. He ran towards them on his horse, feeling the power of its muscles as he leant into its neck. He was coming straight towards the pack of savages. All of a sudden he was among them, knocking them down with a slash of the blade. He rode through them, coming out the other side. He pulled up his horse and leapt from the saddle. The remaining villains came towards him, stunned but ready for battle. He pointed his sword at them as they charged at him. He prepared his stance and…_

His foot caught on one of the few gutters in Paris and sent him tumbling into some poor victim. It was a petite figure in a long hooded cloak, not that he had much time to notice, as the momentum of the fall sent the cloaked figure tripping into the path  
of a nearby carriage. The driver quickly heaved on the reins, pulling the horses into a neighing rear, their front hooves and legs flailing around, narrowly missing the figure's head. The carriage was still moving, however, the horses back legs continued  
scraping along the cobblestones. The body moved to cover its head, before a hand grabbed the long sleeves of the robe, spinning the person out-of-the-way of the incoming horse's hooves and into the torso of a fearful René. He clung to the smaller  
being, holding it close as the carriage barely missed grazing his face, and sending his hair into a different unruly position. The passenger waved his fists out the window and hurled various abuses at them in several languages.

Noticing the marketeers now staring at him, holding their hands over their mouths and whispering to each other, he quickly pulled the person into a nearby alcove in the streetscape. He bent down slightly to the eye level of his companion. He was surprised  
to see the youthful face of a girl, only a year or two younger than himself, with brown hair framing her delicate features. It was obvious immediately that this was no street girl, but rather someone of a higher class. He noticed a few other women  
gathered at a safe distance, also unusually wearing cloaks.

"My deepest apologies Mademoiselle," he said bowing his head and looking to make sure there were no obvious injuries.

"It is no matter," she said smiling, with her kind, yet still startled eyes. René heard the familiar Spanish lilt to her words "If it was not for you I'm afraid I would've met a rather painful end"

"No, no. It was entirely my fault. My clumsiness is renowned" He said a serious expression on his face. Silence fell among the two.

"I saw you were practising your sword fighting before. Are you a soldier in the making?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"No, no" he laughed, leaning against the wall of the alcove "I am destined for two things: a maker of fine hats or a priest... You have faith yourself, Mademoiselle?" he said, noticing the beautiful golden cross hanging from her neck.

"Of course, my faith is what makes me strong. I pray that God gives you luck in whatever course you choose" she smiled at him.

"One does crave the sense of adventure, though. The freedom, the thrill of being alive," he replied, resting his head back on the wall and closing his eyes.

"We are kindred spirits then Monsieur" she replied, an all too familiar pain in her voice.

René heard the tell-tale sound of his father's voice and the sound of a door opening. It wasn't long before his father was shouting out his name.

"I'm afraid I must go, Mademoiselle …." He paused to catch her name.

"Anne" she answered. He bowed again and escorted her onto the street.

"Are you alright to be travelling alone? As my Father reiterates as often as he can, there are many people who may wish to entrap us, youngsters"

"Perfectly alright Monsieur René. And I can assure you I am never alone," she replied, using the name his father had just called out.

"Watch out for more reckless swordsman won't you?" he joked.

"May God be with you René and may he grant you what you desire," Anne said.

"I hope our paths cross again one day Anne," he said politely kissing her hand.

"I'm afraid there will be no such time for friendship or freedom where I am going Monsieur René." She looked into his eyes and smiled before fixing her cloak and slowly disappearing into the crowd. The other cloaked women also followed, disappearing like  
they were never there in the first place. René felt the easily recognisable hand of his father on his shoulder again.

"There you are René, what have I told you every day since your birth?" His father scolded. He turned his son in the opposite direction, walking against the crowds and with that the René of Paris was left behind.

* * *

Aramis knelt before the throne, his long hair dangling in front of his face. He hated to show it, but his hands were shaking with nerves. It was his first time in front of royalty. The King and Queen entered the room and sat on their thrones. That he  
knew, but he kept his head down out of respect, not daring to look upon their faces. An attendant presented a sword in front of the King. He picked it up and placed it on his shoulders.

"I hereby commission you, Aramis, into my regiment of Musketeers" the king pronounced, placing the blade on each of his shoulders. Aramis smiled, his moustache rising. He looked up at the king's barely perceivable smile on his face. He turned around to  
his new comrades in arms and saw their proud smiling faces. He saw the newly promoted Captain Treville, and bowed his hat towards him, remembering the vow he took towards him all those years ago. Treville returned the gesture, and he couldn't help  
breaking his usually cold demeanour for a second. How Aramis wished his parents could have been here and Isabelle…

He shook that thought out of his head. Today was a happy day. He was Aramis the Musketeer now, not René from the country town.

His eyes finally came upon the Queen. There was something oddly familiar about her face. He noticed the chain around her neck and the golden cross dangling from it.

"Anne?" he whispered under his breath.

"René?" Came the reply that reached his ears alone.

* * *

Thanks for taking the time to read this. Have a beautiful day!

Review if you want...

Disclaimer: I don't own the Musketeers


	2. The Introduction

Athos swung his lantern around the dark passageway.

"Have you actually been here before Athos?" a young voice said, the sound waves echoing and bouncing off the walls of the corridor.

"Of course, I've been here Thomas," he said with a groan in his voice as he addressed his younger brother "How else would I know about it?"

Thomas shrugged and continued to follow his older brother down the passageway. Athos rounded the next bend and the corridor opened up into a large room. He turned around to see his brother's face as he saw the walls lined with swords, muskets and rows  
of armour gleaming on the walls.

Thomas' young face lit up with joy, taking in the features of the room.

"What is this even for Athos?" Thomas asked, still with a look of bewilderment on his face. Athos walked over and took a sword off the wall. He sliced it in the air, bringing it only inches in front of his younger brother's eyes. Suddenly, Thomas stopped  
staring at the walls and instead stared into his brother's wild eyes, not daring to even draw a breath as he stared at the point of the thin sword. Athos stared at his brother, not averting his eyes for a second.

"To kill people with," he said keeping his voice still, dead serious. He raised one of his eyebrows at his brother and brought his sword down, turning his back and shining the sword with his shirt.

Thomas let out a breath finally, feeling an odd tension in the air between his brother and him. Athos quickly turned back around, slicing his sword again, coming so close to his face that his hair moved with the motion of the sword.

Athos smirked and gave a small chuckle as his brother winced.

"Never let your guard down Thomas," he said, trying to keep from bursting out into laughter.

"You could've killed me!" Thomas exclaimed, gaining his composure again.

"And yet you aren't dead" Athos smiled at his sibling.

Thomas scowled at his older brother.

"So really, what is this all for?"

"Father set it up as part of a local effort in the event of a war gracing our land," Athos said, looking down the barrel of a musket.

Thomas strolled over and took an armour piece off the walls. He pulled it over his head and squeezed it around his body. He pulled off another section of the body armour and wrapped it around his arm. He looked at his brother with a satisfied look as  
he finished putting on the armour.

"How do I look Athos? Fierce? Are you trembling in your boots?"

"Terrified. Please spare me" he said sarcastically.

"Really?" Thomas said, trying to catch a glimpse of himself in the shimmering metal.

"Thomas, you look about as ferocious as Betsy the milk cow" he smirked.

"Well, Athos I'd like to see you try to look fierce in armour three times too big for you. Besides, it's the soldier's skill that determines his worth, not his looks"

"Go on then" Athos replied, throwing a sword at his brother. Thomas clumsily caught it.

"What...Fight you?" Thomas asked a stunned look on his fresh face.

"Come on, prove your worth" Athos provoked, pulling another sword off the wall.

"Yeah because you're such an expert Athos, aren't you? Some sort of Musketeer are you?"

"Just shut up and fight me, Thomas," Athos said.

"Is this what you brought me here for Athos? Are you angry that I beat you in everything? Your little brother, better than you. You want me to humiliate me, prove to yourself that at least you're a better fighter than me."

Athos quickly brought the sword over his head and Thomas barely managed to lift his sword to parry the blow.

"Where do you get these novel ideas from Thomas?" Athos said. His face flushed red, those eyes flashing with anger. He sliced again and his brother again just caught it as it moved towards his abdomen. Thomas quickly poked the stick in his brother's direction.  
Athos deflected it with, with little, if any, effort. Thomas tried again, going from the side to Athos' legs. Athos caught the stroke, and with a flick of his wrist twisted the sword out of his younger brother's hands. The sword clanged across the  
cobblestone floor. Thomas cried out and held his wrist, rubbing it.

Athos, not wanting to gloat, turned to a nearby cabinet and opened the drawer. Bottles lined the base of it. He pulled one out and removed the seal with his teeth. He spat out the material onto the floor. He heard the sounds of footsteps behind him, going  
towards the sword on the ground.

"Leave it," Athos said, taking a gulp from the bottle. He heard the tell-tale clink of metal and turned around to his younger brother.

"LEAVE IT" he screamed, spit flying from his mouth. Thomas quickly dropped the sword and held up his hands in surrender.

"Alright, alright" he conceded. He walked up beside his brother and went to grab a bottle from the drawer. Athos placed his hand on his brothers.

"You're too young to start that Thomas" he muttered angrily.

"I'm fourteen Athos. I think I can handle it"

"It's your funeral; don't bring this on me "Athos replied, taking another sip from the bottle, not wanting to deal with his brother's immature comments. He walked over and started to practice his swordsmanship. He knew it was unlikely to come in handy  
in any future situation but it was an art every gentleman had to have at least a moderate grasp on. _Gentleman_ , he scoffed. _Comte de la Fère. Marry some rich lady of the district and live here for the rest of his life_. It was his destiny,  
it would seem. He looked to the family vault at the end of the room. That is where he was destined for. That was decided the day he was born firstborn. Athos, his very title, not his first name but rather a name from his family, to signify that he  
was the firstborn; he would carry their name for generations to come.

As he continued to fight away his sorrows, he failed to notice the time going by, the empty liquor bottles rolling across the floor.

"Athos!" he heard his name, pulling him out of his trance. He barely noticed the slur in his brother's words, but now, seeing his red face and his inability to stand properly on two feet, the empty, stained bottles beside him, he realised just how much  
his younger brother had drunk. He obviously couldn't hold his liquor as much as Athos had found he could.

"Thomas you foolish young idiot, you could've killed yourself" Athos growled.

"I'll leave that to you, brother" Thomas slurred. He brought his sword up. "Rematch?"

"Thomas, you can barely stand, let alone hold yourself in a duel,"

"Come on Athos, afraid you'll lose" Thomas aggravated.

"I'm afraid I would kill you, Thomas," he said, not looking as a drunken young man, but as his only brother. A flood of pity came over him as he looked at his brother, with his crude manners and his anger. _Did I make him who he is?_

He put his sword back on the wall and prepared to take his brother back up to their parents. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a silver flash and turned around as the sword come down in slow motion between his eyes. Deep pain coursed through his body.  
He raised his hands to his mouth, feeling the warmth of blood trickling like a river down his chin. He looked at his hands, dripping with blood. He could taste it, trickling into his mouth. He spat out a blob, staining the cobblestone like it had  
stained his teeth. Thomas staggered back seeing the blood covering Athos' mouth. He tripped on the floor, his head coming down hard on the stones.

"Father!" Athos yelled out at the top his voice. Only a few moments later the rush of footsteps comes down the corridor. The current Comte de la Fère runs into the room and notices his youngest child unconscious on the floor. He quickly rushes to his  
side, checking his pulse. The older man notices the bottle, still clenched in his hand. Now he turns to his oldest son.

"What have you done?!"He shouts at his son, hardly noticing the blood dripping from his chin. "How dare you bring him here?!"

"I did not get him drunk" Athos replied. "He did that by his own accord"

He father walked up to him.

"You brought him here, he was your responsibility"

"How could I stop him? He had made his mind up."

His father stared at him, before lifting his hand and striking his hand across his son's cheek, sending blood flying across the room from his mouth, spraying the opposite wall.

"Grow up Athos, start taking responsibility. Thomas is just a boy. He is so young, yet he is twice the man you are, already. I am proud to say he is my son. You, I am not so sure of" His father hissed. "Now help me to carry him upstairs. The maids will  
take care of him." He seemed to finally notice the cut on Athos' lip.

"That'll scare you, you know? Remind you every day you look at yourself of your incompetence"

Athos stared ahead as his father walked to Thomas and cradled his head in his arms. Athos walked over and lifted his brother's body, carrying him in his arms. He couldn't bear to look at his brother's face, but couldn't bring himself to hate him.

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Athos chugged another drink. He saw his new friends Aramis and Porthos, watching him, no doubt worrying about him _. Let them worry, he thought._ He motioned to the barman for another and pulled out coins from his pocket and slammed them on the  
table. A young wench staggered into the seat next to him. She held a bottle in her hands.

"Where'd ya get this scar, monsieur," she said, drunkenly stroking the scar on his lip. Athos gently pushed the hand away.

"A battle" he replied gruffly.

"Did you lose?" she asked.

He nodded. The barman came over with a fresh goblet of wine and slid the coins into his old, worn hands.

"Why'd ya do that?" she slurred.

"Incompetence" he replied and downed the next drink. He slid the girl a few small coins on the table and swayed out the door of the tavern, watching the stars over Paris. _Can I bring myself to hate him?_

* * *

 **I decided to extend this story idea and make it a miniature series. Hopefully it doesn't backfire!**

 **Leave your thoughts, reviews and suggestions!**

 **Have a wonderful day!**


	3. The Origin

"Alexandre!"

The young d'Artagnan quickly dropped the pails of slop for the pigs, hearing the familiar voice that rung out through the farmyard, spilling them onto the ground. The pigs quickly toddled over to the spilt scraps, not worrying whether or not they were  
in a trough and dug in their noses, snorting happily. The young boy quickly ran inside their modest home, spraying mud everywhere.

"Father!" he cried out, running into the house, looking around frantically as if he had forgotten where the room was. Heascended the stairs, taking several at a time. He slid down the waxed wood floor and opened the door into his parent's room.  
/He ran to the side of the bed and took the fragile hand.

"It's okay Mother I'm here" he quieted, looking at his mother's youthful, yet incredibly sickly face, her pale, washed out features and her almost dead eyes. He was almost too scared to touch her that she might disintegrate into nothing at even the slightesttouch.

"Alexandre?" she asked, faintly.

"No Mother, it's Charles. Father is coming soon, I promise"

His mother opened her eyes slightly more and smiled. She brought her arm upenough to stroke her son's face.

"My little Charlie, a little d'Artagnan. My miracle" she whispered through her chapped lips. She clenched his hand and looked at him intensely.

"Bring your little sister to your Mama, Charlie" she commanded him softly. D'Artagnan swallowed, fearing her response.

"I can't," he said slowly, choking a little on the tears that he was desperately trying to stop.

"Why not?" she moaned, watching his face to try to detect any emotion in it.

"Because I don't have a little sister Mama" he responded. His mother looked at him blankly, before releasing his hand, letting her arm drop to her side on the bed. She lay in silence, staring blankly, to the beyond. D'Artagnan took a small step back fromhis  
mother, preparing from the incoming reaction. Cries started to rack her body, jerking it up and down. Her arms shaked at the side of her body shifting the sheets of the bed back and forward. The woman's mouth opened but no sound escaped. Her vocal  
/cords finally caught upand she let out a gut wrenching scream of pain and despair.

"Alexandre!" she screamed "Sophie! Sophie!"

D'Artagnan stood helpless as his mother's raging fever took over her body as she rolled and convulsed. His mother had hoped for so long for another child, but it was always not to be. When this baby made it to her birth everything seemed perfect. But  
thelabour had been long and complicated and the baby had not been strong enough to come into such a world. She died only a few hours after her birth, despite the frantic efforts of the midwife, his father, the maid and the local priest. To top  
itoff,the loss of blood sustained from the birth had sent d'Artagnan's mother into a spiralling fever, and now it would seem they would lose both of them in a morbid twist of fate. As much as he wanted to preserve his mother's dignity,  
he couldn't tearhis eyes away from her until heheard his father's heavy footsteps pound upstairs. It was if his eyes had to prove to his heart that this woman, screaming and sweating, veins popping,was his own beloved mother.  
/

"Françoise!" Alexandre d'Artagnan called out, swinging the door open to see his son staring shocked and, naturally, concerned for his obviously fading mother.

"Go outside Charlie, I'm here for your mother now" he ordered, pushing his son roughly away,as he tried to comfort his wife from her sickness that had consumed her for several days now. D'Artagnan took one last look at his mother and reluctantlyturned  
his back on her and headed back outside the room. He placed his hands on the cold doorknob and slowly pulled the door shut behind him. He leant against the wall of the corridor, his head banging slightly against the wood. The screams of hismother  
were only slightly muffled by the wall. He slid down the thin planks, his legs turning to jelly. He ran his hands through his hair. The maid tottered past, holding a fresh set of linen. She stopped to look at the young boy, noticing his forlornposition.

"There, there Master 'Tagnan. There's nothin' to be cryin' about, is there?"

"What isn't there to be sorry about?" he replied, cynically "...And I wasn't crying"

The maid placed her hands on her large hips and bent down.

"'There be no point waitin' for the future to happen, you gotta live in the present' that's what me Da used to say"

D'Artagnan looked away and purposefully continued sulking. The maid huffed and brought herself back into an almost upright position. Alexandre opened the door slowly and nodded to the maid who hurried inside.

"Come on, up you get boy" he soothed, placing his arms under his sons and pulling him up. "Do you think your mother would like you sulking about? I don't think so! Now, I've got an important job for you"

D'Artagnan raised an eyebrow at his father as he followed him down stairs.

"I had to give up old Jean for a while, to pay for your mother's medicines. So that means you're out on the fields"

He looked at his son who was still looking quizzically at his father.

"It's only for a few days I swear"

He gathered all the equipment for his son, wrapping up bread and cheese in a cloth and placing it in an old worn bag. He swung it around his son's neck.

"Be brave for your old man Charlie, for he's not feeling so brave" he sniffed quietly, trying to maintain an even tone. He smiled at his son. D'Artagnan nodded and went to leave, disturbed by his father's emotions.

"Wait for a second Charlie". Alexandre went into the pantry and pulled out a tattered leather bag. He wiped a fine layer of dust off it and handed it to him.

"A pistol and some charges…just in case" he winked at his son. D'Artagnan smiled broadly.

"For emergencies mind…" he added, "now off with you". He gently pushed his son out the door. D'Artagnan ran outside, splashing cold mud all over his pants. He went into the storehouse and dug around in the hay, looking around to make sure no one was lurking.

"Come on, come on, where are you?" he muttered under his breath, rifling through the hay. Finally, his hands grasped on the long sword he'd traded his minimal and irregular wages on last year. He hadn't wanted his parents knowing he'd spent it on sucha  
'dangerous and trivial object'. Whenever he had the chance in private, however, he'd take it out and admire it, despite its stains and dents. He heard the distance bleat's of the sheep he was entrusted to. He whistled to his dog, who came running  
/immediately, glad to finally have some attention. He shook the dog's ears and set off on a steady jog across the Gascon countryside.

* * *

After spending several hours practising his sword fighting, d'Artagnan slumped up against a nearby tree, exhausted from the physical strain. He was young, but he had grown up working with his hands, he was strong, however withthat amount of exercise,he  
was sure would take its toll on any man. But as much as his eyes felt like sleeping, he knew that he was doing a job. Where would his family be if the sheep escaped, or were killed by a beast or thieves and marauders? He pulled the charges outof  
the bag and counted them.

 _9 charges. 9 kills..._

He stared curiously at the old weapon, doubtless from way backwhen his grandfather was still alive. He rolled the nine small balls around in his hand. _Would father really miss one of them?_

On an impulse he loaded the ball into the barrel, his fingers working at the various latches. He remembered a few years ago when his father had first taught him to shoot. They were out hunting rabbits one afternoon when suddenly his father handed himhis  
musket and pointed to a rabbit about 20 metres away. He had handed the gun silently to him and placed d'Artangnan's fingers around the trigger, while motioning for him to sight up the animal.

"Don't snatch at the trigger" his father whispered almost silently into his ear. He waited, almost ready to fire when the rabbit darted off. D'Artagnan pounded his hand into the embankment they were lying on.

"Patience. Just wait," Alexandre said calmly.

The rabbit stopped suddenly, twitched their ear's and continued eating. D'Artagnan lined up again, this time sending a bullet into the creature in a quick death. Ever since then, he used a gun whenever possible. It was the thrill, the explosive feelingof  
the power in his hands that he enjoyed. Today, he lined up with an apple tree 20 yards away. A single rotting applehung from a protruding branch. He cocked the pistol and tried his best to keep his eye and arm steady. His finger pressed slowlyagainst  
the trigger and within seconds the apple burst into chunks and sprayed on the ground.

"Excellent shot, marvellous in fact," a voice said from behind him. D'Artagnan turned around in seconds pointing his gun at the voice. It was a masked rider, riding atop a horse. He was dressed like a soldier, which his wide hat and cloak. D'Artagnancursed  
himself for being so lost in the moment to not even hear a horse approaching!

"Woah," the rider protested, pulling at his horse's reigns, shuffling it backwards as it snorted. "It was merely a complement, there's no need for that"

"I happen to think there is a need for this, _Monsieur_ " he replied, coldly. "I don't take kindly to thieves and highwaymen"

"Thief? Highwayman?" He laughed in mock annoyance. "You misjudge me, boy"

"Maybe you misjudge me. I'm not just another country boy. I can pick a scoundrel when I see one. Any man would have to be a crook to arrive at a house at the mistress's death bed. You think you can rob us while we aren't looking? You would die beforeyou  
would lay a foot on my father's land"

"Strong words from a boy of what? 13?" he asked, through his mask.

"14 actually" D'Artagnan replied.

"Listen boy. I mean no harm. Unlike some of the scum that roams this country, I am a man of principles, a man of god, and robbing and wronging a lady is not one of them. I'm not here to steal from you, my boy, I'm just passing by" he said calming hishorse  
and gesturing with his arms.

D'Artagnan lowered his gun, still looking suspiciously at the stranger.

"Is it your mother who is sick, boy?" he asked.

D'Artagnan nodded. The rider took off his hat and placed it on his chest with one arm.

"I pray that god makes her well," he said and made the sign of the cross over his torso, his hat still in his hand.

From the distance, d'Artagnan saw the maid running up to him, wagging a broomstick in her arms, screaming at them. D'Artagnan sighed.

The rider turned his horse towards the woman and d'Artagnan saw that his eyes smiled slightly.

"What a charming woman!" he chuckled, watching the large woman lift her skirts above the ground andtry her best to run through the muddy field, falling every now and then.

"Don't worry Agnes, he's okay" d'Artagnan shouted out. Agnes placed her hands on her hips and caught her breath. The Strangertipped his hat to her in an overly polite way.

"You 'ad best be comin' back anyway Master 'Tagnan" she wheezed, cupping her hands around her mouth, then stopping to catch her breath. The stranger turned his horse back to the young man, gently placing his hat back on this head

"I'd better be on my way as well boy. I swear on my honour that if I see anything to harm you and your family, I will _personally_ deal with it" he emphasised.

D'Artagnan nodded silently in thanks. He went running off again, placing his pistol back in the bag.

"Oh, you wouldn't happen to have seen a young woman pass through here recently," he asked, just remembering, pulling his horse around and calling out.

"Not that I can remember" he replied truthfully.

"If you do happen to meet a young woman, alone, long brownish hair, answers to Isabelle, tell her René is searching for her"

"I will" he answered. The rider tipped his hat once moreand then flicked the horse's reigns to send it galloping back into the countryside.

"Master 'Tagnan!" Agnes shouted. D'Artagnan ran down across the paddock towards the maid.

"Who was that?" she asked incredulously.

"I have no idea," he replied, shaking his head as they both watched the horseman ride off into the distance "Some kind of vigilante is suppose"

Agnes scoffed and then lifted up her hem and made her way back down to their home. As they approached the farmhouse, walking in silence, he could see why he had been called back. A priest walked out of the door, making the sign of the cross and raisinghis  
head skywards, muttering grievous sayings.

* * *

D'Artagnan sat at the end of his bed, cleaning his pistol. Constance appeared at the side of his door, leaning on the door post. "You look very lonely Monsieur D'Artagnan" she commented.

"I was just thinking of my father" he responded, putting down the gun. "He taught me how to shoot you know?"

"No, I have to say that, my father never taught _me_ that for some reason...I'm sure you think of him a lot"

"Everyday" he sighed. "My mother died too when I was much younger"

"That might explain your rash attitudes towards women..." she quipped, reminding him about their meetinga few days ago.

"I apologise for that Constance, really I do!"

She murmured slightly,to rile him up.

"I'm not that rash, am I? I don't have any charm at all?" he asked, smiling at her.

"No... Well we'llsee" she replied, looking at him playfully and walked out of the room.

* * *

So here's the next chapter! Leave a review if you can and have a glorious day!


	4. The Outset

"That'll be 3 deniers Lad," the old man croaked, scratching his stubbly chin, flakes of dried skin falling on what he advertised as bread. He stared at the young Porthos and held out his hand, motioning with his callused hands and his yellow fingernails.

"Come on lad pay up!" He yelled again.

"3 denier for bread that's half plaster, half mouldy flour! You've gotta be kidding me!" Porthos chuckled, raising an eyebrow at the man.

"Look here boy; it is 2 deniers if you keep your mouth shut. I happen to run a very reputable business here" he whispered, his vile breath drifting into Porthos' nose.

Porthos looked at the man and tried to look as if considering his proposition. He picked it up in hands, examining it. Abruptly, though, another boy tripped beside them, probably running from someone, and crashed into him. He stumbled and theatrically threw the bread in the air.

"Now look what you've done!" the older man cried, as the bread landed in the middle of the bustling crowd.

"Pardon me, Monsieur," Porthos said as he pretended to look for the bread among the crowd. He gave a shrug to the man behind the counter. The man sighed back, leant back into his chair and shooed the boy off.

Porthos smiled to himself as he turned away from the stall. He looked around for his friends. Porthos spotted a familiar face and moved through the people to a smiling Charon. He placed his arm around his friend as they both laughed.

"You'd better watch it next time I crash into you, I might actually try to hurt you" Charon quipped.

Porthos scoffed.

"Yeah, you wish Charon. Now we just need to find the rewards of our hard work"

"Speaking of the devil," Charon said, noticing the movement in the crowd. The loaf of bread appeared in front of them and behind it a smiling girl of their age.

"Excellent catching if I do say so myself" Flea smirked.

"Yeah, for a girl" Charon jeered, to which Flea promptly jabbed him in the ribs.

"Ladies, ladies" Porthos joked, pulling apart the two friends. "Come on, I'm starving"

Flea poked out her tongue childishly at Charon and proceeded to break the bread into three.

"The biggest piece to Porthos, because he's my favourite" Flea provoked, handing Porthos a large portion of the bread. Porthos raised his eyebrows at Charon and proceeded to take a huge bite.

"Nothing hits the spot like plaster bread in the morning," he said, crumbs flying from his mouth. He swallowed and smiled broadly at his friends. They laughed and ate on their way back to the Court of Miracles.

* * *

Porthos reached deep into his pockets, but only found leftover crumbs of stale bread from another day's conquest. He sighed deeply, looking at his palms where he wished money would be. He looked at Flea, caring for the younger children at the Court. He smiled at her but found him only remembering vague memories of his own mother, and how sad she'd be to see him broke, stealing from people to make his way. Flea looked over at him and immediately noticed his sad demeanour. She walked over and sat next to him on a muddy step.

"World got ya' down?" she asked, taking his hand.

"Yeah," he mumbled. He emptied his pockets for her to see. "I'm stone broke Flea"

"We are all stone broke Porthos!" she soothed, trying to keep him positive.

"It's all this stealing Flea. It's just not...right...not what my mum would've wanted me to be"

"Your mother wouldn't want you to starve either"

"There is another way you know…" he said, looking deeply at her. She looked at him quizzically before her face changed to one of recognition.

"No, no way. You are not going back there" she commanded.

"Come on Flea, look at those kids hey. Wouldn't it be great to have a little change to spend on them?" He asked motioning to the children playing in the courtyard

"We will get by, we always get by Porthos" she pleaded

"I don't want to get by like this. I'm going, Flea… I'm sorry but I'm going" he repeated. Flea looked at his painfully, while he turned his head away. She squeezed his hand and put her spare arm around him.

* * *

"So you're back"

Porthos stopped looking around at the back alley house and turned his attention to the scrawny man with missing front teeth.

"Only for one night, Jacque, understand me! One night!"

"I get the idea boy" he sneered and wrote his name into the register. "You're up in two rounds" Porthos nodded and returned to his friends.

"Come on Porthos, Flea is right. These boxing rinks hardly play fair. You are just risking your life" Charon said

"Yeah well I wouldn't be here if I wasn't desperate, would I Charon?" Porthos hissed at his friend, rubbing his wrists and blowing the warm air from his mouth on them.

"So we can't stop you?" Flea asked, trying one last time bring her friend around.

"Nup" he replied stiffly. Flea looked at Charon, rolling her eyes at his stubbornness. Charon sighed. He walked in front of Porthos.

"We'd better make sure he wins then Flea" he replied, smiling at Porthos. He took the lower part of his oversized shirt and ripped it across its hem. Porthos started to complain but Flea quieted him by ripping one of the ragged layers of her skirts. They started wrapping them around his hands, adding the extra support to his undoubtedly strong hands. He nodded silent thanks to them and started breathing heavily, ready for his call.

The roars of the crowds told him the last fighter had lost… badly.

"And now the toughest boy in all the Court of Miracles, Porthos!" The scrawny man announced, whistling through the gaps in his mouth. Porthos pushed his way through the shouting crowd.

"Here he is" Jacque hollered. "Come on fellas, who thinks they could best the wee lad"

The crowd laughed and muttered between themselves. A middle-aged man came out of the crowd.

"I'll give it a shot" the man announced, slurring his words slightly, holding a cup of liquor in his hands. The crowd thundered, patting him on the back.

"Ahh, a willing contestant" Jacque sneered, pulling the man onto the raised ring. "Place your bets gentleman, the strapping street lad Porthos or Monsieur…"

"Comte de la Fère" he yelled, throwing his cup high in the air, sloshing some of its contents on his head.

The crowd rushed forwards thrusting money at Jacque, who gleefully collected it up. Porthos went over to him.

"I'm not going to fight him; he can barely stand on his own, let alone hold his own"

"You'll fight or you won't go home" Jacque hissed. Money in his hands, he set up his two competitors.

"On the count of trois"

"Un…"

"Deux…"

"Trois…"

Porthos raised his fists in front of his face reluctantly, as the man threw punches in his general direction almost immediately. Porthos ducked a swipe at his head that the Comte had managed to get in. He hit the man in his stomach, which pushed him back. Porthos looked at the pathetic man and was cautious not to hurt him…irreparably.

The man returned, angrier and managed to land a decent blow to Porthos' left shoulder, but only opened room for Porthos to throw another punch into the older man's chest, and onto his face. The man stumbled on his feet, floored by the force of the knock. He fell to the ground, and the crowd laughed. Porthos smiled to the crowd and his friends amongst them for such a quick victory. He heard the older man spit, but didn't look at him, didn't see him get up, charge towards him and swing a massive throw straight at his head. It hit Porthos square on the temple, turning his head unnaturally. The man hit him again until it was Porthos who fell hard and cold onto the dirty floor.

* * *

Porthos stirred violent, jerking upright and wincing at the pain that throbbed and pulsed through his head. He lifted his hands and pressed them against his head. He looked around at the back alley he was in.

 _Dragged out here and robbed probably… though they wouldn't get anything would they_ , he mused to himself. He saw a man out the corner of his eye and heard the familiar voice that he guessed would accompany it.

"You like to dance with death, don't you Porthos," Captain Treville said, coming towards him.

Porthos sighed and lay down again.

"Evening captain," Porthos said smugly.

"Would you care to explain why you were in that place after I explicitly told you not to?" Treville said, his voice rising.

"I was desperate" Porthos answered, his words guilt laden.

"Desperation is no excuse for derangement! I told you to come to me if you needed anything. 'Just write me a note and I'll meet you', I said. Don't go here again; they will have no qualms about killing you" Treville yelled

"I'd rather die fighting than on my knees," Porthos said, averting his eyes from him, and propping himself up.

Treville firmly placed both his arms on Porthos' shoulders.

"Then be a soldier Porthos, fight for something worthwhile"

"You know I couldn't leave the Court," he said, moving from Treville's grip.

"The Court of Miracles is not the life for you… not the life your mother raised you for" he said. "Look the offer always stands Porthos; you can always call for me in times of desperation"

"Sure, I'll call my ugly, old, moustached guardian angel…" Porthos joked and noticed the signature small smile that Treville tried to let no one see. But then Treville turned, wrapped his cloak around him and left him alone. He started to get up, pushing himself upright, wincing. Porthos stumbled out the alley, keeping a hand on the wall to steady him and trudged down the muddy streets of Paris. He felt an unfamiliar weight in his pocket and reached into his jacket to see a small bag full of coins. He smiled faintly as he jingled the coins around. He barely walked two streets before Charon ran towards him.

"Well, well, well if it isn't Porthos back from the grave… and just in time because Flea is in one hell of a fight with some street girl who robbed her!" Charon said, turning and running again. Porthos sighed and grudgingly followed him, jogging past the pain.

Even a street away, Porthos could here Flea's trademark yelling and cursing. Charon was at the scene already, pulling Flea off a girl with dark black hair. Porthos joined in removing the two fighters.

"Give it back" he hissed into the girl's ear.

"I honestly have no idea what's she talking about Monsieur, I was simply walking by and suddenly I was set upon by this…madwoman" she squeaked batting her eyelids and feigning fragility.

Porthos pushed her away.

"I had better not see you again" he growled, pointing his finger at her. The girl curtseyed and ran off into the night, Flea still yelling curses at her.

"Flea, enough!" He roared as she struggled in Charon's arms.

"Pardon me… just let her go. I have enough money to share" he opened the pouch and split the coins three ways. Charon looked gleefully at the shining coins.

"Where did you get this?"

"You don't need to know" Porthos replied gruffly.

"We'll make a proper thief of you still Porthos" Charon laughed and slapped his friend on the back. Flea and Charon walked on, giggling to themselves, leaving Porthos to trail behind.

 _I am no thief._

* * *

Porthos held out his cards to his partner, hoping his bluff of two pairs was enough to win him enough to pay the bill for the tavern. The other player smiled smugly and showed Porthos a stellar hand. Porthos groaned, and reached into his pockets, as usual, to find that every last coin was on the table. The man scooped up the rewards, smiling widely at his winnings. The barman, who had hovered over his shoulder, coincidentally decided now was the time to demand the payment for the night.

"You know I 'aven't got anything" Porthos mumbled.

"Well, it looks like I'll have to call the Red Guards…Musketeer" he sneered. Porthos rolled his eyes and prepared to swing his fist at the man before his hand was caught. Porthos looked across to see the Captain by his side.

"That won't be necessary Monsieur" Treville responded, placing something into the man's hands, which pleased him a lot.

"Thanks for that" Porthos murmured.

"When will you learn, Porthos?" Treville seethed. "What will you do when I'm not here anymore?"

* * *

 **That's the Four Musketeers done!**

 **I'm wondering whether to continue this series or not...What do you think?**

 **Have a superb day!**


	5. The Debut

"Annie, come on even princesses need to sleep"

"Please, Fräulein. Just five more minutes" The young Anne of Austria complained, letting the elaborate porcelain dolls droop in her hands while she looked at the round faced governess and her yellow hair held up in a tight coil.

"There is always time for play tomorrow, but the night is for sleeping," she said and placed her hands against her face, pretending to sleep.

Anne chuckled at her beloved Governess. The young woman continued to keep her eyes closed until Anne could bare it no longer. Anne put down her dolls and smoothed her small, incredibly delicate linen dress. She walked over daintily and tugged on the governesses arm.

"Fräulein Elisabeth, pardon me, but it's not the time for you to sleep now" she whispered with a childish air of authority.

The German governess pretended to wake up, dramatically yawning and stretching her arms.

"My Goodness is it this late! Far too late for Governesses to be awake let alone little girls" she remarked slyly. Anne placed her hands on her hips and sighed melodramatically.

"Well I suppose if I must, then I will change into my bedclothes" she declared and walked over to the much thinner dress, laid meticulously on the bed for her.

"Do you need any help, Your Highness?" The governess called out, smiling to herself at the young girl's antics.

"I will be fine, but thank you for your thoughtfulness Fräulein" she called from behind the changing screen. A various array of grunts came from the young girl as she tried to wrangle the complicated dress off and into her bed wear. The royal governess knew she was shirking the responsibilities of a head governess by not assisting her charge but she knew her role was preparation for the real world, not necessarily just the role of a supreme royal, even if it was her destiny. Several long moments went by before the princess appeared, slightly dishevelled, but sporting a proud smile. She danced over to her bed, folded over the silk covers and hopped onto the large mattress. Elisabeth walked over and folded the covers over her. She smiled at her and pushed herself off the bed, walking to the door to respond to a rather forward old maid. She whispered something to her in the corridor and came back down by the Princesses side.

"Your Mama would like to say goodnight," the governess said, picking up a brush and running it through the young girl's hair, tidying the girl and flattening the bed sheets around her. A knock at the door and the colder breeze of the corridor alerted the Governess that the Queen was in the room. She curtseyed deeply, bowing her head.

"Your Majesty" she addressed.

"No need for that here Fräulein, we don't need to stand on ceremony, here I am 'Mama'," she said smiling at her young daughter.

"Good night Mama" Anne answered smiling widely at her larger than life mother in all her glamour and majesty. Her mother the Queen bent down and placed a kiss on her daughter's perfect, petite cheeks. She smiled and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

"Goodnight Annie" she cooed, running her hand onto her daughters and squeezing it tightly. "Sweet dreams and I will see you in the morning. I have to go, your siblings need tucking in too. Elisabeth will look after you"

The governess smiled and bowed again.

"I will indeed your Majesty," Elisabeth said and curtseyed again. The Queen laughed and looked to her younger daughter.

"What do we have to say to Elisabeth to get her to call Mama by her name Margaret?"

"Off with her head!" Anne said in a mock command.

Elisabeth laughed at the young girl but her mother stared her down.

"Anne, a great ruler never abuses their power. The world needs compassionate, merciful rulers of strong will, not proud, arrogant ones" her mother scolded

"Yes Mama" Anne whispered, hanging her head slightly.

"Which is why you will make a great ruler one day my princess" her mother added, leaning over and kissing her daughter again. Queen Margaret smiled at her eldest child and then walked out of the room, her fine skirts swishing against each other. The Queen hung on the door frame and turned back to the bed.

"Love you my darling"

"I love you too Mama"

Anne's mother disappeared through the door, leaving the room feeling lesser without her radiating presence. Elisabeth smiled at her charge and sat down on the bed.

"Goodnight Annie"

"Oh please Elisabeth, can you tell me a story?" She begged, grabbing onto her governess dress as she got up to leave.

Elisabeth sighed slightly and sat back on the bed.

"Which one tonight then?" she asked, giving in to the little girl's request.

"The princess in the tower!" Anne squealed

"Again?!"

"Yes again, because it's my favourite and I haven't heard it all week"

Fräulein Elisabeth considered the argument and purposefully took as long as possible before answering.

"Well…Alright then"

Anne smiled excitedly and snuggled into her bedsheets.

"Once upon a time…"

 _Once upon a time in a place not so far from Spain, there lived a beautiful princess that was cursed from birth to be trapped in a castle deep in the forest away from all her family. She stayed in the tower all day long and all night and dared not wander out of the room as she could hear the awful roars of a huge beast below her and, occasionally, the dreadful screams of anyone willing to try to rescue her. So she waited and waited, every day wishing she could see the world. One day as she stared longingly out of the single window in her room at the top of the castle she saw a rider gallop along down the ragged, rocky road that leads to the castle. He pulled up his horse at the base of the wall._

" _Who are you?" she shouted from the top of the tower._

" _I am a humble knight from a faraway kingdom. My king has heard of your misfortune and how your beauty must be and has sent me to rescue you"_

" _I respect you for your journey here, sir. But I am afraid a terrible beast is guarding this castle and it is sure to kill you"_

" _At least I would have died with a glimpse of your fair lady" the knight replied._

" _I beg of you sir, leave me be" the princess pleaded. She heard the roar of the beast below and shuddered at the thought of another dead would-be rescuer._

" _My king commands it" he replied and galloped into the castle._

 _She shouted out to him to stop but he rode regardless. She sat the end of the bed and started to cry at the hopelessness of her situation. The Princess heard a horrible cry and sobbed even more at the knowledge that she had caused yet another death. She stared at the walls of her prison, her mind and emotions glazing over, and began to walk toward the door. She turned the handle slowly and opened it slowly. Standing in the corridor was no other than the knight. The princess double took before smiling so much her face couldn't contain it all. Something in her compelled her to fling herself at the knight and hugged him so tightly, never wanting to let go. The knight took the princess hand, past the slain beast and onto his gleaming white horse and they galloped away into the distance. And she lived for a long, long time afterwards_.

"Why do you never say whether the king marries the princess or the knight does?" Anne huffed as the story ends.

"Because that is where my story ends and hers begins" Elisabeth answered.

"Well it is very inconvenient" she groaned

"Pardon me your Highness"

"That's alright Fräulein" she sighed, closing her eyes slightly and yawning.

"I think it's finally time to sleep Annie," Elisabeth said quietly. Anne nodded her head sleepily and rested it on the pillow next time.

"Sleep softly Princess" Elisabeth whispered, holding the girl's hand until she drifted off to sleep.

 _ **5 Years Later**_

* * *

"Mama Anne, Mama Anne" the young baby on the grass cooed, holding out its pudgy arms out to the young girl. Anne smiled over the top to the baby and made tickling movements with her hands as the baby laughed. She picked up the baby.

"Mama Anne!" the baby laughed and giggled. Anne sighed as the baby repeated the name she had used once when he couldn't pronounce sister. The sounds of that name 'Mama' brought back dark memories to the still young, but mature Anne. The reports of the death of the Queen, the forgotten baby that was overshadowed by the extensive mourning. Anne took it upon herself to be a mother to these forgotten children, her siblings. They had their governesses of course, but they did not love them like family. Their father spent even less time with them now, after the death of his wife and the worries of the country on his shoulders. She shuddered to think what would happen when Anne would marry the soon to be King Louis. It was only a few months now when their 3-year betrothal would end. She would have to leave everything, her country, her family, her freedom, to be with a man, a boy, she didn't even know, let alone love.

She pulled the baby onto her small hips and carried him through to the room that held her former beloved governess, who had returned from her honeymoon with a German Count. She had hated to leave her, but she could see that Fräulein Elisabeth was happy to have a chance to have a family of her own after many years of service.

The footman opened the door and Anne walked through, her baby brother with her. Fräulein Elisabeth rose from the table and held out her arms.

"Annie, Annie" she fussed, speaking in her thick German accent. The older count stood awkwardly in the corner, not knowing what to do with himself.

"How was the rest of Europe? " Anne asked politely.

"Wonderful, magnificent. Wasn't it Klaus?" She asked her husband. He smiled through his big moustache and let out an even more accented 'yes, yes'.

"I brought you back something of course. Klaus and I went to see the famous William Shakespeare's play "Romeo and Juliet". I know it's not like seeing the show but I managed to find you a copy of the play. It's crude, but it is the words that count" Elisabeth said, handing the princess a package

"What is it about?" Anne said, placing the baby down on the table and unwrapping the gift, turning the leather over to see the back and front of the book.

"Forbidden Love," Elisabeth said.

Anne nodded.

"I thought it would be something to remind you of me and the stories we told"

Anne smiled brightly at the woman.

"I'm sure I will love it. But I don't need something to remind me of you Fräulein. You will always be in my heart"

Elisabeth smiled and wiped a tear out of her eye. Count Klaus quickly saw his time to step in. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly. Elisabeth looked into his face and smiled. Anne couldn't help to be happy that her friend was content.

"I'm afraid we must be leaving Your Highness, we have a long travel ahead if we are to reach Germany in time for the ball"

"I pray for your safe travels Count, Fräulein" Anne replied, addressing them and looking up from her small position to the two large adults.

Klaus motioned with his head to his wife before bowing to Anne and leaving the room. Elisabeth hugged the girl one last time.

"You have a good heart, Annie," she said, choking back tears "Use it". She sniffed back more tears, straightened up, smiled and left the girl alone in the large dining room, the sound of the door lock clicking sending shivers up her spine.

Anne wiped her eyes as they were stinging from the tears that she had been blinking back.

 _There is no use for a heart where I am destined._

* * *

"Am I a good Queen, Sophie?" The Queen asked her French lady in waiting out of the blue as she looked over the perfectly manicured lawns of the Louvre Palace. The lady in waiting looked quite startled at actually having to answer her Queen for once.

"Your Majesty is a ruler most… kind" the woman sputtered out, blushing red.

"I am asking truthfully Sophie, there is no need to stand on ceremony" she replied, sighing at the likewise manicured, manipulated words of those closest to her. She wished so much that they would treat her as her mother was treated, with the famous phrase , to not stand on ceremony

"The people find your majesty a Queen of great wisdom and they are loyal to you" Sophie again replied in a rehearsed manner.

Queen Anne nearly scoffed at the words coming from her mouth. She knew the people didn't trust her. They only saw a Spanish, barren woman who had found her way into the private running of France. She wasn't even sure that the King trusted her.

They didn't care how good her heart was.

* * *

 **I wasn't going to do this chapter but this story was stuck in my head, so here you go!**

 **Leave your thoughts and have a fantastic day.**


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